


Even in death

by FlawedWriting



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Anxiety, Check Notes for individual TW, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mostly Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, No Morgan, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is 18, Secret Resurrection, Slow Burn, Stephen Strange needs a drink, Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, nat lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlawedWriting/pseuds/FlawedWriting
Summary: This was not supposed to happen.If what Stephen Strange had seen was any indication of what the future held then this was not. supposed. to happen.Tony Stark was dead. Shit.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. We begin At The End

**Author's Note:**

> Strap in folks, it's going to be a long one. Important notes at the end. So without further ado, please enjoy.

Tony had expected it to happen faster. The whole dying thing.

Judging from the damage Banner had sustained during their first use of the gauntlet, all evidence had pointed to a quick and painless death. At least for a mortal man who, you know, _hadn’t_ spent his youth wallowing in a ridiculous amount of gamma radiation - and then lived to tell about it.

Turns out, he was wrong.

Oh, there _was_ pain - but it somehow seemed extremely far away. Like a protective blanket had somehow lodged itself between Tony and whatever hellish agony that awaited him if he chose to focus on it. Probably a good thing, he figured, hoping it would stay that way.

A sudden burst of sunlight made him flinch, causing Tony to take a couple of steps forward. He made it about five feet before he stumbled, blindly reaching out to grab hold of something solid before lowering himself unceremoniously to the ground.

_Fuck,_ it was getting hard to breathe.

His vision continued to blur in and out of focus, making him slightly nauseous. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had picked up the distinct smell of burnt flesh, and he made a conscious decision to ignore the implications of that.

Tony blinked again, trying to get a hold of his surroundings. Everything was pulsating like a bad acid trip and Tony needed it to _chill the fuck down_ , but the ringing in his ears was just so overwhelmingly _loud._

By the third time Tony blinked, lids heavy, the world seemed to have slowed its spinning. Something touched the left side of his head. A hand, it felt like. Tony struggled to look up, eyes barely locking with his best friend.

It was at that moment, Tony realized, that not only did he _feel_ like he was dying, but that he probably looked the part too.

Rhodey looked _defeated._

Tony wanted to open his mouth. Tell him to stop looking like someone had shot his puppy. That it was okay - wasn’t his fault. He could have his whisky collection. Or at the very least share it with Happy. Just stop. _Stop_ looking so fucking guilty.

He didn’t, however, say any of that. All that he managed was a small shudder, breath rattling in the back of his throat.

God, he was so tired.

Tony wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes again - wanting nothing more than to just embrace whatever force that was dragging him towards unconsciousness. It would be so easy.

And then he felt it: someone was touching him again, trying to get his attention. He could barely make out a voice – soft and careful. Familiar.

Peter. _Thank fucking Christ_.

It was hard to make out the words as the ringing was still quite prominent in Tony’s ears. He caught bits and pieces, mostly his name being repeated over and over. The kid was rambling – breath shaking on each syllable - and Tony knew he couldn’t doze off yet. Had to make sure Peter was okay.

It took everything he had to look up again, thankful for whatever hard surface that was supporting his head.

The only thing that went through Tony’s mind as he laid eyes on a mostly-unharmed Peter Parker was a calming sense of peace. Because _this_ , he thought, this was the reason. What had made the whole clusterfuck that had been the last five years bearable. Made it worth it.

And _God_ was it worth it. Despite the wide and fearful eyes, the kid was alive and solid and _safe._ Somehow _,_ it was all that mattered.

Peter’s next intake of breath sounded dangerously close to a sob, and Tony _knew_ – probably better than most – how much this hurt to watch. Peter was looking at him with a desperation that screamed ‘ _please please tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this’_ and Tony felt something painful tug at his heart.

_You can’t, kiddo._

It would pass, eventually. He would finally get to go home to his aunt, make stupid decisions with his friends, and who knows - somewhere down the line – probably change the world with that ridiculously positive attitude of his. Yeah. In time, he would be okay.

Tony wanted nothing more than to pull him into a hug and tell him exactly that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that trying to form a sentence right now would be a horrendous idea, if at all possible – so he didn’t try.

It almost came as a relief when someone gently pulled Peter away, sparing Tony from having to watch him fall further apart.

Within seconds Pepper was kneeling in front of him, and Tony felt an odd mixture of pride and anguish as he took in the view. She looked better in a suit than him and Rhodey combined.

“Hi,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest.

“… _Hi, Pep_ ,” Tony was almost positive he had somehow managed to say that out loud. If someone were to tell him that he had swallowed an ashtray, he would be inclined to believe them.

Pepper’s face paled as her eyes searched his body, assessing the damage. Her gaze lingered a bit too long towards his right side before her eyes found his again. The smile she offered him was devastating.

_That bad, huh._

“FRIDAY?” Pepper spoke, lower lip trembling.

There was an understanding in her eyes, he noticed. Like she had known this would eventually happen - had expected it. God knows she had warned him enough times. That his obsession with _‘fixing it’_ would eventually result with him six feet under. _Well._ She had always been a smart woman.

Using the last bit of strength that he had, Tony managed to cover Pepper’s hand with his own, squeezing lightly. He would almost welcome a well deserved ‘ _I told you so’_.

“ **Life functions critical”** The AI stated.

Tony smiled helplessly as Pepper’s eyes welled with tears. _It’s okay_ , _Pep._

He wanted to apologize - but couldn’t for the life of him figure out where to start. For all the pain he had put her through the last couple of years, hell, the last _ten_. For always screwing up - eventually driving her away. He never should have dragged her into this mess to begin with. It was so far from what she deserved.

A sudden tremor made his hand jerk, grip tightening around hers.

“Tony?” Pepper faltered.

Tony was vaguely aware of the fingers that went to his hair, brushing it back.

There was a sudden urge to cough - his chest contracting uncomfortably – and the hoarse wheeze that followed was barely audible to his own ears. The blurriness had returned with a vengeance, and Tony’s head lolled to the side. Black spots danced in his peripheral vision, as everything slowly started to burn away. Was he drowning? It was hard to tell. His body felt _heavy_.

“It’s okay,” he could distantly hear Pepper whisper, voice wet, “you can rest now.”

It was all the permission Tony needed as he finally stopped fighting the waves, letting himself sink.

____________________________________________________

This was not supposed to happen.

If what Stephen Strange had seen was any indication of what the future held then this was not. supposed. to happen.

Tony Stark was dead. _Shit_.

Stephen’s mind started racing, scanning the battlefield for answers. A solution. Because there _had to_ be one.

The dust had, quite literarily, just settled. Those who could still stand were helping injured allies to their feet - movements timid and careful - as if not quite believing the threat to be truly gone. Stephen didn’t blame them; he was still on edge himself.

In the middle of the field lay Stark’s lifeless body, slumped against a piece of debris. Miss Potts was kneeling next to him, shoulders trembling as her hand gently closed the man’s eyes. People had started to gather around them, though no one seemed to speak. What was there to say?

Stephen could hear the crackling from a nearby fire mixing with the soft, but pained sounds coming from Stark’s comrades and friends. He glanced to his left, quietly observing Steve Rogers running a trembling hand down his face, trying to wipe away the silent tears that were still falling. Some seemed to have settled for bowing their heads, a small gesture of respect. It was oddly touching.

Perhaps he was wrong. That this was indeed meant to be. Even if every fiber of his being was screaming _save him save him save him._ But _how_? Was Strange supposed to intervene? Had he not _already_ done that? Was someone else expected to come up with some miracle solution? God, his head hurt.

From the corner of his eye he saw Commander Rhodes turn towards the youngest member of the avengers, tentatively trying to lay a hand on Parker’s shoulder. The kid flinched, nails digging into his forearms, eyes glued to the ground.

Stephen had thought himself immune to the various stages of grief. Had spent a good chunk of his career informing family members that a loved one had passed (though admittedly it had rarely been his fault).

But there was something in the way Parker seemed to will himself to take a final glance at his mentor, eyes immediately squeezing shut as if it physically _hurt_ to look – his legs giving out beneath him. The broken sounds that followed with each seemingly painful breath as his hand closed around his mouth, muffling a whimper. The soft _pleading_ as he sunk further towards the ground.

Stephen closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. _Focus. You need a plan. Think._

When he opened them again, he found his gaze drawn towards Stark’s right arm. The only possible solution was staring him straight in the face.

Except no. Just _no_. That could not be it. Going down that road was all too dangerous, with the potential of undoing everything they had just fought so hard to win. But then again, what other choice did he _have_?

With each passing second it became clearer what he had to do, and that he needed to do it _now_. Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching in frustration. There really was no guarantee that this would work. _At all_. But if he didn’t try, well - they would all probably be dead within the next five years anyway. This would all have been for nothing.

His hands had started to move even before his mind was made up, opening a portal to 177A Bleecker Street.

“Strange?” Wong came up behind him, staring questionably at the portal.

“Go back to the sanctum. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Stephen commanded, keeping his voice low. Wong gave a puzzled nod and did as instructed.

Stephen started to walk towards the body, hands still moving on autopilot as he got closer. Glowing mandalas began to appear around and under Stark, causing Miss Potts and a few others to turn their heads towards Stephen in confusion.

He hoped his expression was managing to convey a decent amount of empathy as he locked eyes with Pepper Potts. Her own were brimming with unshed tears, but there was a strength in her posture that gave off the impression that she wouldn’t let herself fall apart until everything was dealt with. Stephen felt nothing but respect for the woman.

“I know this is difficult,” Stephen paused briefly, “but we need to move him. Get the stones to a safe location,” he made sure to keep his tone soft, but urgent.

Potts' lips quivered as she turned back to plant a soft kiss to Stark’s forehead. “Okay,” she whispered, standing up. “Just – please…” she started.

“I will take care of him, you have my word,” Stephen added, slowly lifting his hand. Stark rose with it.

He made it a point not to meet anyone’s eyes as he disappeared with the man who had just saved the universe, leaving the people he left behind to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plot bunny has absolutely refused to leave me alone for months, so here we are. It is my intention to post once a week, but be warned that it may be a bit more sporadic than that. While I'm quite far into the story it remains unedited, so, you know. Might take a hot second.
> 
> Also, future chapters will be a bit longer than this. Any and all comments are appreciated and valued. Stay safe out there.
> 
> Psst. I'm in the market for a Beta Reader (it will make this whole proccess less painful). If interested please contact me at https://superartsyanon.tumblr.com/


	2. I Hope They'll Remember You

It took approximately ten seconds before Wong came storming into the office Stephen had just stepped foot in, eyes promptly darting from his friend to the levitating body next to him.

“Strange, you need to tell me what’s going--“

“--I need your help,” Stephen cut him off as he strode further into the room. With a flick of his hand he vanished the stacks of papers on a nearby wooden desk – lowering Stark onto the cleared surface.

“He’s dead,” Wong stated slowly, and Stephen could hear the subtle warning in his voice. It was a tone reserved for when Stephen was about to do something particularly moronic – in Wong’s humble opinion that was – and perhaps this one time; he would be inclined to agree.

“…yes,” Stephen said through clenched teeth. “Of that I’m painfully aware.”

Silence filled the room until the only sound audible was the increasingly loud ticking of a grandfather clock. When Wong next spoke, the disbelief was palpable. 

“You can’t possibly be thinking what I think you’re--“

“I have to.”

“No, no you do not. If you even for a second think about using the stone I beg you to reconsider,” Wong pleaded.

“And I need _you_ to trust me on this. “Stephen turned to fully face him, but Wong held up a hand - effectively halting him.

“This is not a matter of trust _._ When you appeared out of nowhere and told me to gather an army from around the world – that was me trusting you. This, however, is downright foolish. After everything that has just happened, meddling with _that_ ,” Wong pointed towards the green stone resting on Stark’s armored hand, “is something I would strongly advise against.”

Stephen sighed, “And in _any_ other circumstance I would agree with--”

“--we have won, Stephen. It’s over. Tell me why we should risk that for the life of _one_ man?”

Stephen threw up his hands, knowing he was unable to provide a satisfying answer, “Because the world still needs him? Because I am almost positive millions of lives will be lost if we _don’t_ do this?”

Wong narrowed his eyes. “If the stone showed you that, then why do you sound so uncertain?”

It was a valid question. One of many Stephen wished he had a definitive answer to. “Well, that’s where it gets rather complicated.”

Wong shot him a look as if to say ‘ _do enlighten me’,_ and Stephen suppressed the urge to drag a hand down his face. There was no way to explain this without sounding like a lunatic operating on a hunch, but he tried nonetheless.

“Back on Titan, when I peered through possible futures,” he started, “there was a point where my vision fractured; only allowing me bits and pieces of a puzzle. For some reason there was so much it wouldn’t let me see, but it’s like I could _hear_ it. And believe me I know how that sounds.”

Insane. It sounded insane.

“It spoke to you? Is there a chance you might have misheard? That you’re wrong?” Wong asked.

Stephen shook his head, “I wish that were the case. And while I might not understand the full picture just yet, its message was abundantly clear: whatever’s coming, we cannot hope to survive it without _him_ ,” Stephen finished, gesturing towards the man whom the universe - for some inexplicable reason - refused to let die.

“It is not my intention to be difficult, but I would prefer a more solid argument before we potentially destroy everything we have accomplished,” Wong said, frown deepening.

“I _know_ ,” Stephen groaned, a hint of desperation underlining his words, “and I wish I could provide a better explanation, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Will you help me or not?”

There was a short pause and Stephen’s shoulders tensed in anticipation.

“I have warned you once before about tampering with the natural laws. Continuum probabilities. There is a reason we do not do it. There are always consequences – a cost – and we have no way of knowing what that will be. Or who has to pay it.”

“But?” Stephen braced himself.

Wong’s eyes seemed to soften around the edges as he replied, “but I am not here to work against you. You are supposed to be the best of us. I gave you my warning, my advice. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Stephen gave a breath of relief, deciding then and there that Wong needed a raise.

Now came the challenging part.

“Right, the plan - in theory - is simple enough. We want to reverse the damage done to his body, without actually reversing time itself. Meaning, we need to isolate the energy - contain it, so it doesn’t affect its surroundings.” Which, funnily enough, was the very definition of breaking time, but Stephen wasn’t about to point that out. They both knew.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” And wasn’t that the question of the year.

“Well, technically, I’ve done it before. Albeit it was with an apple and a book, not the—”

“--damage caused by six infinity stones?” Wong finished.

“Exactly,” Stephen said. And while the prospect of that was terrifying, he was probably the only one who _could_ do it. Few beings had mastered time manipulation to the extent of being able to wield the stone’s powers – a feat that usually required centuries of practice – but what Stephen lacked in knowledge he made up for in a natural connection with the stone itself. He could do this.

“I say we focus on getting him breathing, then we’ll take it from there,” Stephen took a few steps towards the desk, carefully starting to remove the stones from the armor.

“I reckon we’re in this library because of its properties?”

“It’s the room with the strongest magical connection in the sanctum, yes. I ran a few tests a while back. We need all the help we can get,” he removed the time stone last, placing the other five in a wooden container designed to hold mystical objects.

Wong almost looked impressed, “And you need me to act like a buffer?”

Stephen gave a quick nod, “Keep in mind, we need to go slow. If you feel _anything_ getting out of control, you tell me, and I’ll stop. Focus on containing it.”

Wong placed himself at the opposite side of the desk, clenching his hands a few times.

“Let's get started then.”

* * *

Peter couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had forced his enhanced hearing to drown out the surrounding noise – to not pick up on every conversation taking place around him - but he suspected it was somewhere between the mentions of funeral arrangements and _time travel_.

It was a nauseating combination of too little time and too much information. Peter felt like he was on the brink of shutting down, brain covered in a thick fog that made it impossible to focus. None of it seemed real. _Please don’t be real._

“Hey, you okay?”

Peter looked up from where he sat hunched over in a chair, arms crossed around his midsection. He really wished people would stop asking him that.

“I’m fine,” he said, distantly noting how sore his throat was.

Commander Rhodes didn’t look entirely convinced but seemed to leave it alone as he lowered the phone from his ear, muttering a curse at whoever had been on the other line.

In the light of the entire Avengers facility being blown to pieces, hotels had been secretly booked and secured to house most of the remaining soldiers. As a result, the lobby was currently filled with Wakandan citizens in various degrees of medical attention.

Normally, a debriefing would have taken place within the first day. But as it turned out, having four billion people suddenly reappear around the world had made everyone a bit too preoccupied to deal with that.

Another curse left Rhodes’s mouth before the man returned his attention to Peter. The lines between his eyes seemed to deepen as he sighed. If Peter were to guess, he’d say the man hadn’t slept in weeks.

“We haven’t been able to reach your aunt yet, but we’re working on it. Shouldn’t take too long, just – you should probably eat something? Get cleaned up. Here,” Rhodes held out a keycard. “Room 593. As soon as we know something, you’ll be the first to know, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Peter took the offered item and clutched it in both of his hands.

The reasonable thing would have been to call May himself, except he couldn’t - apparently both his and May’s mobile plan had been cancelled several _years_ ago. After that revelation Peter had briefly considered webbing to their apartment, just to make sure she was safe. Also not an option, seeing as - according to a quick google search - someone else lived there now. In their apartment.

The main doors suddenly swung open, and Peter watched as Happy Hogan burst into the lobby, ID in hand as he pushed through security. The man seemed to spot them through the crowd and made a beeline towards Rhodes.

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see your dumb face in my entire life…” Rhodes almost looked like he wanted to give the man a hug, voice filled with a bit more emotion than he seemed comfortable with.

“Came as fast as I could - traffic’s a real shitshow. Your security is utter _crap_ by the way,” Happy muttered as he came to a halt.

“Yeah, we had to improvise a bit. The other’s stayed behind to do clean-up. I don’t know how much valuable tech and weapons that currently lies buried under HQ, but I sure as shit know we can’t risk uninvited scavengers getting their hands on it first,” Rhodes said, eying the men guarding the door. “Pepper called you?”

Happy gave a quick nod, “Yeah. Yeah – she did. What do you – what can I do?”

“I just need a little time. See these people?” Rhodes gestured to the men and women scattered throughout the lobby, “Most of them are from Wakanda. We need to make sure they get home before the Secretary of State bursts through these doors with the whole damn cavalry in tow. They don’t need to deal with our bullshit. We owe them safe passage home without revealing the extent of their involvement - Or at the very least, that should be their decision.”

“Um, alright. How – how exactly are you planning to secretly transfer hundreds of people to Wakanda? I mean, I might be able to get my hands on a few--”

“--No, it’s fine. That’s why I need time. We’re waiting on a guy, or - well, a doctor? He can make,” Rhodes gestured vaguely with his hands, “…magical portals?” He exhaled heavily through his nose, as if the mere concept of explaining Strange was exhausting.

Happy blinked twice, “Portals? Right – got it - don’t ask. However, are you, _James Rhodes_ , actually lying to the government?”

Rhodes shrugged, a smirk playing at his lips, “Well, you know. Got easier after the third time.” It was shortly replaced with a somber look, “You’ve been gone a while you know…”

Happy ran a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes, “So I’ve been told. Been actively trying _not_ to think about it. Because it’s crazy. And insane. And seriously, what the _hell_ Rhodey?”

“Yeah - yeah, you could say that.”

“Five years. _Five_ fucking years?” Happy uttered in disbelief.

Peter wanted to throw up.

Rhodes gave a helpless nod, “Feels like ten to be honest.”

Peter shifted his gaze towards the floor, clutching the keycard a little tighter. His hands were shaking.

“And Jesus – Tony--”

_Please don’t._

“Was being a dumbass as usual.”

“Fuck, he’s really--”

_Stop talking, please stop talking._

“If someone was gonna save the universe you bet your ass he’d take the credit, right?”

Peter abruptly stood up; breath caught in his throat.

“ _Shit_ , you okay, kid?”

God It was such a _stupid_ fucking question.

“I’m fine, Happy. Just gonna - gonna go and have that shower now,” Peter didn’t spare the two men a second glance as he started to move towards the elevators. He could hear the subtle pain in the back of Happy’s throat as he spoke, but Peter just couldn’t deal with it right now. If he didn’t leave, something was going to break.

“Sure. If you need anything, you have my number?”

“Yeah.” Just not a working phone. It didn’t matter.

“Peter… Are you sure you’re—”

“ _Happy._ I just wanna shower…”

“Sure, kid. I didn’t mean to--”

The elevator doors opened with a loud _ding_ , and Peter slipped inside as he waited for the doors to close behind him. The moment they did he let out a shuddering breath, grabbing the golden railing to steady himself. The soft jazz music playing above him started to sound warped and drowned out.

Peter was no stranger to the beginning of a panic attack, though it had been years since he had experienced one. Not since before he’d been bitten.

His therapist had once asked him – a few months after Ben had been shot - to describe what he felt during these episodes. Peter had settled on dying. He distinctly remembered fearing for his life – like he couldn’t _breathe_ , and his hearth would suddenly wrench itself out of his chest without warning.

He had been wrong. As much as he didn’t want to think about it, Peter _knew_ what dying felt like. And this wasn’t it.

This was somehow worse. It was the overwhelming feeling of being _alive_. Of every rapid rise and fall of his chest, the increasingly loud hammering of his heart. Because Peter was alive. Peter was alive and breathing, and Tony Stark was _not_.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

The railing gave under his hand, bending slightly. Why hadn’t he done something? He had held the fucking gauntlet. Peter had _enhanced healing_. He could have survived it. Maybe. Why the hell hadn’t he just—

The elevator _dinged_ again, having arrived on the fifth floor. Peter nearly stumbled down the hallway until he reached 593. It took him a good thirty seconds to insert the keycard.

The door to the hotel room slammed shut with a bit more force than necessary as Peter leaned against it, nearly hyperventilating. The sudden silence had Peter reach for the TV remote in an attempt to quiet the thoughts that had become unbearably loud in his head.

Wow, what a bad idea.

Numbers where being thrown around on the news. How many had died. Drownings, car accidents, sightings of people falling out of the sky. They were currently reporting thousands, still counting. If you had been dusted on a plane or a boat, well – odds hadn’t been in your favor. It was nothing short of bizarre, and Peter ended up breaking the remote while trying to turn the stupid thing off. Because _what the fuck_ , _what the fuck, what the fuck._

When May finally entered the room an hour later, Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed, head clutched in his hands. He had never made it to the shower.

“Peter?” At the sound of May’s voice Peter looked up, releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Thank God she was safe.

Peter tried to speak, but the lump in his throat prevented him from doing so. By the look on May’s face he could tell that she _knew._ That someone had told her. Before he could move, she had crossed the room in three long strides, arms wrapping around him as she sat next to him on the bed.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” May whispered into his hair. She didn’t ask him if he was okay. She never had. Not after his parents, and especially not after Ben.

It seemed unfair how many times they’d both found themselves in this situation.

“I broke the remote,” Peter managed to rasp out, head tucked in the crook of May’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, honey,” she gently ran a hand down his back, “…Want to break anything else?”

The question came off absurdly genuine, and Peter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, shaking his head.

Peter didn’t know how long they stayed like that, or when the first sob tore itself from his throat, loud and ugly and raw.

“I love you, and I’m so _incredibly_ proud of you, you know that?” May said, voice breaking as she kissed the top of his head.

He clung to May as she gently shushed him, her own tears falling into his hair as her grip tightened, trying desperately to soothe.

Everyone kept saying that they’d won, and Peter wondered if he was the only one who felt like he had lost almost everything.

* * *

Three hours later Stephen found himself leaning heavily against the desk, hands shaking with a force comparable to how he had been after the accident.

“If we keep this up, you are going to pass out,” Wong panted, drops of sweat coating his forehead.

Stephen wanted to disagree, but Wong was right. They had to stop. He couldn’t afford to lose consciousness. There was still so much to do.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” he heard Wong utter in bewilderment.

Stephen stood on shaking legs, taking in the sight of the unconscious, but _breathing_ Tony Stark. And while, yes, Stephen couldn’t believe it either, it somehow didn’t bode well that that was _all_ they had managed to do. It had taken nearly everything he had just to get his _heart beating_? How long was this going to take?

“What now?” Wong asked, still holding the spell that would keep Stark stable and subdued.

“I imagine they’re waiting for us to help with the transport to Wakanda. But first I need to contact Christine. We need to get him hooked up to life support, as we can’t rely on just spells to keep him under. They’re also going to want a body when I return the stones…” Christine was probably going to kill him. Most definitely.

Wong raised an eyebrow, “You’re not going to tell them?”

“It’s in our best interest to have the world believe that he’s dead. At least for now.”

“So, you’re saying--”

“I’m saying,” Stephen started, “It’s going to look a lot more convincing if we don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. I had some minor plot related issues to unravel. And while I want nothing more than for our boys to reunite as soon as possible, there will be a good amount of angst and minor time skips in the meantime. I’m guessing around chapter four/five? Thank you so much for every little feedback I receive.


End file.
